Whispers

A Tale of Tree

I write this as I sit under a tree, It’s beauty, a specimen of nature, you see; It’s flower, so warm and bright, Like the friend who stays with you, On a summer’s night. Its leaves, so dainty and green, Just like a ballerina’s ‘petit’. The way it sways in the wind, so light and sweet, Reminds me of carolers on New Year’s Eve. It has stories left untold, The rings held in the trunks, old. Its branches like a friendly embrace amidst a crowd, Its tender touch to erase all foul. I bid farewell to thee my tree, My tree of tales, A tale of tree.

Blood on my hands

Her blood is on my hands I don't remember what happened last night All I see is a foggy glow All I hear is a shriek.

Her blood is on my hands I feel a weight on my chest My eyes are flooding I can't stop crying

A stone cold wall is against my back I can see my writings on the walls I see blood on my hands Even if it's not there at all.

I feel so confused and crazed And I'm running into walls So the blood that's on my hands Isn't yours.

I can't hear you Everything's fuzzy I see in black I see in blue On my hands a scarlet hue.

I finally wake from my bed Sweating through my clothes I can't see you I can't see you lying there But there's still blood on my hands Then I see the bruises on my hands

Then I realize With tears in my eyes And a pain in my head That it's all mine.

⚠️ heads-up!

Hilo, this poem's a bit darker than my usual ones -it's a fictional/poetic expression of trauma. So, if it feels too much, pls stop reading and do something silly, like pretend you're a chicken 🐔 💛

The Dark Empress

She was born with a purpose to create, But the stars spoke of a prophecy; That she would leave destruction in her wake.

Born under the moonlight, Her eyes as dark as the night, Her innocence went alight, Led astray from her painless life.

Tortured, hunted and betrayed she was, Couldn’t find a soul who would see who she really was; Depressed she ran away, Found the dark to understand her dismay. Comforted by it subtle warmth, It led her to her kingdom’s silver porth.

She grew more knowledgeable by the day, Till she was able; To rule the land where the dead stay.

Many came to try and conquer her land, But when they came, They met their end, with no accolade; By a touch of her hand, Their bodies turned to little more than grains of sand.

She wasn’t evil, just deeply misunderstood, Only the dark knew she was still good; None knew the pain she endured, Abandoned at birth, Barely found anything to fill the dearth.

She found solace nevertheless, The dark with her, Made her The Dark Empress.

Chill bird.

5 posts! YAYYY!

HI!!!

hi peeps, first post here, so imma just dump a couple golden retriever puppy pics (not mine, googled a LOT tho)

oksie do imma zap out cuz i need to read a bookie (hint: it starts with h, 2 words, and rhymes with zipline :D)

bye peeps havea SPECTABULOUS DAY !!!<3<3

You are loved still

Years and years are passing by Older days look more sweet Underneath a spotlight, you feel so empty.

A day barely passes without tears like Rivers streaming down your face Everything's a little duller, you're not doing okay.

Living feels like a burden, you cry writing goodbyes Older days were easier, no 'I'm fine' lies Very few saw through your mask Everyone ignored your scars Don't die today please, don't be ruled by your past.

Stay and see the sun waking for a new day Till you're breathing a little easier I believe you'll get through this Live to see the light- live for the ones who Love you, and don't want to say goodbye.

🌱🌵🌲

👖👖👖

Plants with pants

Sounds awesome tbh😁🌿👖

The Little Bead

We lie in our class, Not really intrigued or puzzled, By the mundane subjects that keep us muddled. Some may admire the beauty that surrounds us; Of the trees swaying in the winds, Of the cherry blossoms that drop, In the never-failing cold wind. The light which comes through our open doors, The light, not brighter than the people we have in store.

We all are specimens alike, But, behind our mask of mischief lies, A little drop or maybe a bead, Filled with sincerity and virtue so sweet. The little drop that burns and shines, In all our hearts it lies.

We are not mindless wanderers, We are not without destination; Some folks can’t understand, The intensity of our situation.

We have a goal, An aim to be great, But some of us haven’t uncovered our little drop, The drop that can seal our fate.

The teachers say we’re a nuisance, How we trouble their conscience; But how they will miss us, Miss our shenanigans; How we will miss each other when we leave, To the calling of our little bead.

Paint

The picture in your mind when you think of art;

The artist on his pedestal place,

Dabbing his brush in paint,

Sweeping all his worries away.

The picture in your mind when you think of art;

A careful mix of colours and hues,

A careful tinge of another shade,

A story that never fades.

The picture in your mind when you think of art;

A bleak landscape of monochromes,

So very little tint,

A figure standing all alone.

The picture in your mind when you think of art;

Lush green landscapes,

So very simple,

A doorway to escape.

The picture in your mind when you think of art;

The artist on his pedestal place,

Painting a scene so lovely,

Whose model is as sweet as honey.